Monster
by sjsjtd2007
Summary: Oliver Kirkland struggles with his demons


**A/N: Here's a tiny break from my other thing. Also… After my comedy I'm going to write a tragedy. You were warned.**

_Oh, my._

What have I done? Oh, love. I've done it again, haven't I?

The light faded from the poor girl's eyes and her life drained over my fingers. Her beautiful frame crumpled, having been mangled by my blade.

Unfortunate.

I wiped the blood from my hands that night without a second thought. I cleaned my clothes in the bathtub again without a thought. Nothing fazed me until I walked into the dimly lit living room. It was silent and eerie, but again, it never bothered me. What bothered me was the one thing out of place. I hadn't thought I'd had visitors, but here I saw a piece of paper. It was innocent enough.

I picked the paper up and read the note.

"_Oliver_,"

I smiled, recognizing the handwriting to be Francois'. I hadn't seen that old Frenchman in weeks now.

"_I came by but you weren't home. I was watching the news and saw some people had gotten killed in your neck of the woods. I hope you're all right. Give me a call._"

I frowned. Had he never considered that the killings were my doing? He knew me well enough to realize that my stability at mind was warped at times.

This is when it hit me. The walls of my world crashed down and horror feel over my face. I looked under my nails to see dried blood staining them.

So many lives were taken under my hand. Not all of it was in the time of war. I'd become numb to the violence and I'd even turned the empathetic side of my brain off for these occasions. How long would it be before I hurt someone I…love…

My stomach turned. Images of the past, of my loved ones screaming and crying for me to stop, the pain in their eyes and the fear on their faces, and all of the horrible things I had done to those I considered to be my family and my friends, all of those images haunted my vision. They feared me. Every single person I knew always greeted me in an off sort of way. How had I not noticed?

How had I so casually batted off the shy attempts of communication as normal?

My brain howled and only one world fled from my lips. "Monster."

I dropped the note and went back to the bathroom where my blood soaked clothing floated in the orange water.

I stared into the mirror and backed away. "I'm a _monster_."

My reflection simply laughed. "And they all fear you," he chuckled.

I shook my head and grabbed my hair in my fists. "What have I done," I whispered.

All of my life has been an endless battle of sanity, and here I was talking to my reflection as if it were normal.

"What have I _done_," I shrieked.

Before he could get another word in edgewise, I slammed my fist against the glass. It shattered around my arm, slicing my hand and arm. A piece of glass struck my on the cheek, sticking there.

"_Monster_!"

I yanked my fist back and cried out, ready to strike again. I suddenly stopped and stared into the broken glass that was still attached to the cabinet.

"Who am I," I breathed. I let my hand fall slowly to my side and stared into my own eyes for what felt like an eternity. Traces of violet were slowly receding from my irises and the pale blue was all that remained.

I wondered if any other country had these moments where they would question who they were. I wondered if Luciano ever felt guilt after killing someone.

I wondered if I was alone or if anyone else had scars on their fists from breaking glass to escape their own refection.

How many others hated the sight of their own face?

It wasn't those dreadful freckles or the ginger hair that often took on a pinkish hue. It wasn't the eyebrows that could cut through diamonds.

It was who wore the face.

It was the monster that lurked beneath with the violet eyes and the crazed smile.

That monster craved blood and the flesh of innocents.

I leaned back against the wall and picked glass from my hands and took the shard from my cheek. Blood was released and fell down to my jaw. I hardly noticed.

My phone rang. I sighed deeply and forced my voice back to that high-pitched cheerful bounce. "Hello," I answered.

There was a momentary pause, then, a voice I didn't expect came through. "You're a monster."

"NO!" I threw the phone at the wall of the shower and it toppled into the water.

Monster.

"No!"

Demon.

"No! No!"

Disgrace.

I ran from the room, hoping that what was haunting my inside would stay. I should have known better. You can't escape your own mind.

I knew that I would never escape, and through the blood, the screaming, and the tears, it would be a never-ending battle of whether or not I would end it all by drowning in concrete.


End file.
